Scavengers of the Galaxy
by pinkachu00
Summary: Telrea Rat Nessa fights the Empire in ways beyond her simpleton Tatooine dreams with her smuggler band and the Rebels, and in the end must defeat a Dark Jedi who used to be her friend. OCs by the dozen, no Mary Sues.


**Chapter One**

Telrea Rat Nessa was bored in Mos Eisley. You, reader out there, are probably disbelieving this for obvious reasons. Like, perhaps:

Mos Eisley is a slimy mud pit of all sorts of alien and human no-goods. Therefore, you are always getting yourself robbed, or robbing someone yourself. Or you're dead.

Mos Eisley is a desert planet. Therefore, you have a 60 chance of dying by getting stuck without water, and a 70 chance of getting stuck in a sandstorm. And never coming back.

Mos Eisley has many semi-nice peoples who like telling stories to anyone and everyone. Make sure you trust the person though – smugglers like to brag about things they do. And didn't do.

Well, please throw those out the window. I mean, don't! Otherwise the fat Gamorrean pig guard sitting outside my depressing window will get really mad at you and will attempt to pull your arms off.

Back to what I was trying to say: Telrea Rat Nessa was bored in Mos Eisley. For a sixteen-year-old girl there was nothing to do except beat hotshots in Beggars Canyon. Which was fun, until you came home all sweaty and gross, and your parents thought you were watching a holodrama with your friends. Oops. (And since Darklighter and Skywalker had left, there wasn't anyone decent to race. They had both left years ago.)

So she spent her days, well… beating hotshots in Beggars Canyon. And dumping them on their butts after they lost. It was a happy, but unsatisfying life.

At home it wasn't much better. Her dad was an ex-smuggler; her uncle a very frequent cantina patron. Three brothers completed the mix.

Well, since you insist, here is a complete list of all her family:

Ramen Rat Nessa: Telrea's dad. Always ready to give you not so helpful smuggler advice. (Oh joy)

Aaron Rat Nessa: Telrea's uncle. Can teach you about just anything – when he's not drunk.

Janos Rat Nessa: Telrea's youngest brother. A year younger than Telrea, all he cares about it getting a cool speeder to impress… well, everyone!

Keran Rat Nessa: Telrea's brother. A year older, Keran is the sole sane member of the family, according to Telrea.

Eskan Rat Nessa: Telrea's oldest brother. Named for his adventurous uncle, Eskan is anything but adventurous. His idea of a trip is to walk through a holo-drama.

Now you see?

Well, my (okay, her) story begins here. The summer of ABY 3. (Unfortunately, seasons aren't a very good way to measure time, especially on Tatooine.) Will someone please shut that stupid Gamorrean up outside!

Telrea was outside of the sand-riddled house that her family inhabited on the edges of Mos Eisley. Painting her skyhopper was tedious work, especially because she didn't have the crew of willing workers the other "hotshots" had. Being just about the only female in the business, you just had to deal with that.

And you had to count the fact that you couldn't just paint on Tatooine, you had to paint fast. The dry consistency of the planet made paint dry up like a Mon Cal out of water.

Even though reviving paint wasn't hard, it usually loses quality every time it's rehydrated. She was using an amazingly expensive black paint, imported with the help of some smuggler friends, which also had a reputation for abhorring rehyrdration and drying like lightning. So Telrea sweated the day away whilst her rivals enjoyed cool drinks and lavishing attention after finishing their jobs by noon.

By dinnertime, Telrea had finished only about 2/3s of it. Hoping she could paint the rest before the race tomorrow, she threw her brush down into the hydro-bubble of water and grabbed the paint bubble. About to enter the garage for the much-  
needed refresher station, she encountered a most familiar and most awful looking face. Jennie Sullivan.

"Well, what's Miss Skyflyer doing today? Painting? Seems like a lowly job for someone as famous as you, don't it?" Jennie grinned evilly. "It might not be done by the time the race starts. The horror!" She faked a desperate look and giggled, waving her arms in the air.

Telrea never liked Sullivan. She was basically the only girl who kidded herself into thinking she was a racer. Never having been in a 'hopper herself, Jennie was still the role model for most of the other girls around who were any way shape or form in the racing business. Rolling her eyes, she stalked in the direction of the garage. To be intercepted by Jennie.

"You're not going anywhere!" she stated, standing proudly in front of the exasperated Telrea and wiggling her hand in front of Telrea's face.

Some tips for if you meet Telrea yourself.

Never insult her family.

Never insult her friends.

Never insult her skyhopper.

And NEVER wiggle your finger in front of her face.

Staring down Sullivan's shirt, (which was, despite the dark, glowing faintly purple) she formed her plan of attack. Hefting the paint bubble to her side, she asked, "What's your favorite color?"

"Huh?" Jennie cricked an eyebrow. "Why do you need to know?"

Telrea put on her "I'm a follower" look. "Because you are, totally, cool, and I am, totally, wanting to be cooler!" She gave a big fake smile.

"O-kay, man, you've changed. It's pink. But I also like green!"

"Thanks for the compliment. What do you think goes with pink the best?" Telrea inquired. Her thought list right now ranged from disgusted to down right puke-able.

"Duh, black!" She gave a cheesy "of course" smile. "Why do you need…"

"That's good. Then you'll be in style for this little surprise!" She gave an identical smile to the one that Sullivan had given before.

"Ooh, a surprise!" Jennie gave a pleading motion. "What is it?"

"Right here." And with that, Telrea promptly hit the release remote to open the hydrostatic, and dumped the rest of the excessively pricey paint all over the subject auburn head. Then she walked untroubled into the garage with the empty paint bubble, leaving a screaming and fuming Sullivan.

* * *

"What you doing?"

Whipping out her blaster pistol from its holster, she faced the intruder. "Don't ever, ever, do that again, Quentin. I can get you sent out, you know," she carefully reminded him.

Quentin jumped off the durosteel crate he was crouched on. Touching a wall panel, he turned the lights on, illuminating the dusty and oily room with a mellow glow. He leaned against the junked landspeeder, making his white outfit even more oily. "Saw you do that to Sullivan. She don't deserve it." He quickly dumped a package on the sabacc table in the middle of the room.

Flipping her blaster back into her holster, she grabbed the package. "She ought to have anything I give her. Please tell me you got decent stuff for me this time." She looked woefully at the appealing setting suns out the open door, and then said, "Close the door," sentencing herself to blurry glowlamps.

"Watch your language, 'rea. I'm an apprentice, not a servant," he reprimanded her, closing the door, then sliding over to one of the table's hover chairs. "What do ya think?" (Though in his heavy farmer's dialect it sounded like "What do ya thank?")

She fished in the rough synthosilk bag. "I told you five Imperial-class blasters would not be enough; I need seven Imperial-class proton launchers! Really, Quentin, you expect us to – hey what's this?" Pulling out a device, she checked it over.

"I told you," Quentin said, walking around to her side of the table, "that I can get anything from the junk dealers around 'ere. That baby is the newest secure-link comlink, straight from Courscant." He picked up the comlink and flipped up the cover, revealing the holoprojector. "What do you think? It's the smallest projector in the galaxy."

Telrea scrutinized the item. "I think," she said, "that you are the biggest bait taker on this side of the Outer Rim. Secure link, my foot! Look at this," She pointed at an innocent looking object attached to the side of the offending comlink. "This – Is – A – BUG!"

Quentin peered over her shoulder. "Oh. Right." He hung his head.

Telrea continued scolding. "Really, Quentin, I'm going to have to find another supplier if I'm going to be quartermaster. I can't believe that you didn't realize this!" She stopped, seeing Quentin starting for the door. "Where are you going?"

"To hang out with some nice girls," he said under his breath. "I mean, to help you paint your 'hopper!" He hit the door release, and Telrea caught a glimpse of the twin sunset.

She rolled her eyes. "I know what you said. You said 'To hang out with some nice girls.' Oh, please, Quentin, you don't know any girls except me anyway."

"You don't know. Maybe I'll go off running to Sullivan."

"You wouldn't!" Telrea said. "I hate to break it to you, but she 's way too good for you." She twisted a few strands of blonde streaked hair that had gotten on her jumpsuit. "Geeky farm boy and popular town girl do not go together."

"How do you know?" Quentin faced her defiantly.

Telrea walked up to him, dropping the bag on the floor. "I, (step), know, (step), because, (step), I, (step), listen! Unlike you." She pointed an accusing finger at him. "And if you run off to Sullivan, I won't pay you anymore for the stuff you bring in."

That was the last straw for Quentin. "Fine," he muttered. He hit the door release. The doors slid closed with a creaky, rusty squeak. "I'll stay."

Quentin's belt beeped, interrupting the moment. He tapped a switch on the comlink. "Quentin here," he said, flicking a small device from his belt onto the comlink. A miniature of Telrea's father appeared, resplendent in shades of holographic blue and green.

"Quentin and Telrea, yes I do know you are both in here, you need to come in. Eskan is making dinner. It's fried bantha ribs. Ramen out." The figure flashed once and then the light died. Quentin returned the device to his belt.

"Well, see you," she said. "Fried bantha ribs, even when cooked by Eskan, are too good to miss." She crossed the room, skipping over droid parts and starship mechanics. Hitting the door release, she paused. "White really looks bad with your hair. You're not Skywalker, you know." She then strode through the door, leaving Quentin gawking. She had completely forgotten about using the refresher station.

* * *

"WHAT?"

"I said, I want to submit an application to the Academy today, dad." Janos picked at his food.

"Deak and Hal went last year!" His fork abruptly flew out of hand. "Who was that?"

Everyone shrugged noncommittally. This was one of the few times the family was together. Eskan was usually at the spaceport looking for apartments to move into, and Keran was usually at school.

"It doesn't matter who it was, what matters is that you are not going next year! We discussed this before." Ramen's face was hard and unyielding. "Now, how's prep for the next test going?" He motioned to Keran.

"Well, I made top grade last time, so I shoul-" Keran was cut off with a blast of "aheming" by Janos.

"This is not over!" he yelled, standing and slamming his hand on the pristine table, making the plates and glasses dance.

"Janos," Keran warned. "Don't try him." He pushed the boy back into his seat.

Janos shot a look at Keran and then stared at his father intently. Eskan, seeing that no one was eating, looked around and proceeded to say, "Anyone try the bantha ribs?"

In order to distract the now fuming Ramen and Janos, who was lividly looking at his father, Telrea dove her fork into the bantha rib portion on her plate, and said with false cheeriness, "It's really good, Eskan! Now, Keran, what were you saying about prep?"

No one noticed Janos sneaking out the back door.

Except Quentin. Hovering by the window, with the sounds of teenagers who had a little too much Savareen brandy flowing through the air. Sand blew at his face, making his eyes itch. But he, oblivious to both, reached out with the Force. Sensing Janos' intent, he followed him.

* * *

Cantinas have a reputation for being loud and more than noisy. As Quentin approached The Dust Bowl, the strains of some musical instrument could barely be heard over some other patron's yelling. Concentrating too hard, he missed the Rodian keeling and over right next to him. There was a thump and a feeling of pain in his stomach, and then he blacked out.

Excuse me for a moment. I have to talk to my next-door neighbor, who I am sure hired that pig guard. "SEBULBA! WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT HIRING PEOPLE TO SIT ON MY DOORSTEP!"


End file.
